


Deeper

by EverNeverBlues



Series: Diverging Paths [3]
Category: Psycho-Pass
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Sex, TW for anyone who has sleep paralysys, ptsd mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:54:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27951098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EverNeverBlues/pseuds/EverNeverBlues
Summary: He was kicking all the doors down this time.
Relationships: Ginoza Nobuchika & Tsunemori Akane, Ginoza Nobuchika/Tsunemori Akane
Series: Diverging Paths [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2044729
Comments: 5
Kudos: 32





	Deeper

She was supposed to control her breathing and focus on making a fist.

The ghosts were spilling into her reality, slipping seamlessly from her nightmares into her sleepless days and nights. Most times it was Yuki, blood dripping out of a perfect line on her neck. She’d be on the ceiling, on the couch, and on the walls. Her mouth would always be open, like she was screaming, but not a single sound came out. 

On rare occasions, it was Masaoka or Kagari. Kagari was the most tolerable, only ever appearing after a particularly good day. That was probably because she didn’t know what he looked like when he died, only knew that he had been eliminated for hellish reasons only madmen could conceive. It was the way he would explode into a million pieces that Akane hated. Like he was just some fragile glass sculpture of vibrant acceptance. She had watched Yuki die on that landing, partly at Makashima’s hands, mostly at hers. Masaoka’s autopsy was part of the report she had to file after the last Makashima-incident. Kagari was just… gone. So at least when he appeared at the foot of her bed, he was at that table again, the skyline of the city behind him, grinning as he stuffed his face. 

The diagnosis was PTSD and sleep paralysis. Some evaluations noted that she was suffering from severe depression, just overcompensating by working herself to death. She was a wonder to mental health specialists with her crytal clear hue and relatively low coefficient, especially compared to anyone else with these issues. How that was possible, no one knew. But, they figured that someone in her position would likely end up in rehab at some point. It was just a matter of time.

To Sybil, her suffering was an inevitability. Akane held its secrets in her mind, and Sybil was nothing if not calculating, knowing that someone so just would crumble with the weight of knowing. To Mr. and Mrs. Tsunemori, it was a sign that their only pride and joy needed to change her path. Settle down, find a nice desk job where she could get lost in the mechanisms of bureaucratic uselessness. To Mika Shimotsuki, it was a warning. She was the MWPSB’s rising star. In reality, the only real advantage she had over Akane was that she was much younger. Otherwise, Mika was no different. To Nobuchika Ginoza, her most loyal, most trusted _person_ —well, she never told him. If she bled, he’d always be the last to know, and she made sure of that. 

To Akane, it was the justice she’d long deserved. 

Though her psycho-pass remained disturbingly clear, there was no denying that her crime coefficient was steadily, however slowly or slightly, rising. Her doctors fussed over her numbers, prescribing pill after pill. She was up to a cocktail of five every morning, and eight every night. Akane Tsunemori, notorious for having the strongest grip on her sanity, for her uncanny ability to keep her hue so clear, was teetering on the edge of a cliff she had willingly climbed. 

Today, Division One’s lead inspector made the mistake of falling asleep at her desk. Upon opening her eyes, she heard nothing. While her enforcers and her partner were mere feet away, she couldn’t hear them move, couldn’t hear them talk. Instead, all that Akane heard was the dull echoes of Yuki's screams, begging for help. And she was right there, laying her head on the inspector’s desk, inches away from her face. This Yuki looked even more real than the day Akane watched her die. Blood pooled from her neck, her mouth, her unblinking eyes, dripping down the ends of the desk. Her expression was fixed. Sad. Judging. Disappointed. Whenever she appeared in the inspector’s bedroom, in the dark, at least Yuki just looked dead. There was distance between them, and Akane could handle that. But with each breath, each attempt to squeeze her fist, Yuki’s mouth opened wider and wider and wider. The woman, viewed by many as the ideal champion of righteousness, was losing control. Her breathing hastened. She could swear she could smell sewage and blood. Blood oozed out of the gaping hole of Yuki's beautiful neck. This ghost was going to swallow her whole. 

“Akane?” 

_No, no, no. Not you. Not right now._

His gloved hand rested on her desk, between Akane and her ghost, and she could feel his other hand on her shoulder. “Akane, are you all right?” Her skin burned under his touch. Akane used to hate the dreams that he was in, _but god_ , what she would give to see anything else other than this right now. 

Her hand finally cooperated. She made a fist. In the blink of an eye, Yuki was gone. Akane shot up, coughing. 

“Enforcer Ginoza, you shouldn’t be referring to her with such familiarity.” Mika sounded far less spiteful than usual, as if she herself hadn’t been convinced of Ginoza’s impropriety. Red flashed from Akane’s wrist. Her heart rate had shot up and faint echoes of her old friend, crying, screaming, begging for mercy, calling for her to help her, _help her please,_ rang in her ears, and that meant it was time to take the latest bits of calm she’d been given. Take with food and water to make the stale and sterile easier to swallow.

“Sorry, everyone. I guess I need to walk around a bit to wake up more.” Akane’s voice stayed steady and her eyes were trained on the ground. “I’ll be back in thirty, okay?” The Unit Chief half expected her underling to protest, but Shimotsuki nodded instead. 

“We’ll cover you until you get back.” 

Heart pounding in her ears, Akane swiftly made her way out of the office. 

Ginoza followed close behind. 

“Ginoza! Where are you going?! You don’t have permission to—”

Closing doors silenced the younger inspector’s screeching. Shimotsuki wasn't wrong, it’s just that Ginoza had earned the right to call Akane by her first name. Knowing her for over two and a half years should have been enough, _and this woman’s puked on him, for god’s sake_. How many times did Akane end up calling him to pick her up from the garage floor? And who was it that he could trust to bring Dime to the vet? Sure, Ginoza could tolerate everyone else. Maybe even like them. He recently learned that Yayoi, for instance, was a fantastic sparring partner. Hinakawa always asked about his plants. He hadn’t warmed up to Togane yet, but Ginoza was at least open to the idea (mostly at Akane’s request). Though his list of comrades was small, Akane, as always, stuck out. She was closer. They had lunch together almost every day, even on her days off. Ginoza had her try the curries he’d made from the tomatoes in his little garden. There was nothing she couldn’t tell him. Together, they were what Ginoza publicly called “close allies”, and what Akane called “just friends”. But in cafeteria corners, the shallow ends of swimming pools, and empty floors saved just for them, she was a saint for a mere sinner.

So when he saw her on her desk that morning, eyes wide with tears, staring at something that wasn’t there, of course Ginoza would be worried. It was his duty to make sure she didn’t dirty her mind with the grime of every vile thing that people were capable of doing. If she looked like she’d just seen the devil rise up from the depths of hell, then that meant Ginoza wasn’t doing his job of keeping its doors shut. There was Sybil, yes. There were laws and some vague ideas of justice that needed to be enforced. If Akane was suffering, that meant he wasn’t working hard enough. He’d ruin himself for her, commit every sin that was needed so that she had nothing to apologize for anymore. 

“Sorry, Nobu, I can’t really… I’m not really ready to talk right now.” He shrugged. 

“Then at least let me walk with you.” She couldn’t even smile or look at him. She just kept walking. 

Ginoza looked back at their cases as of late. There was a murder about once a month, although they were typical ones. Jealous lovers, bitter former-friends, lashing out at others to make up for perceived shortcomings in their short lives. It never got as bad as when Makashima was around, but when it got close enough, Ginoza made sure that he was there, by her side, every step of the way. The issue, however, was the smaller details, the triggers that sometimes made her jump or cry. He’d figured most of them out. Cigarettes, white haired men, rainbow bobby pins, and the glint of silvery straight razors. These were worse than any others. On occasion, when she’d randomly prompt him to check her, he’d notice the steady rise in her coefficient. If she became a latent criminal, where would she go? He had no doubts she would recover and that she could be reintegrated. He knew, however, that by that time, the system would have eaten her alive. _He would lose her._

They arrived at the balcony outside Division One’s break room. Winter’s air was dry and icy going in, freezing exhaled warmth. Akane just marched out into the middle of it, a frigid breeze reminding her that she’d left her coat behind in the office. Ginoza, however, was quick to drape his coat over her. She eyed him, protests in the dull shine of her brown eyes. “The last thing I want is for you to catch a cold.” 

“Being cold doesn’t mean you can get sick, Nobu. You know that.” Shameless indignance, the part of her that he admired most. “Besides, you’re going to get cold, too.” The enforcer leaned his elbows against the railing, looking out at the city beyond. 

“I’m wearing long-sleeves. You’re just in a shirt.” Ginoza didn’t see how Akane shook her head. It was easy enough to change out her clothes with another set with some holo. _Although_ , to the man’s point, _it would just be an illusion_. Under the digital mirage she wore was just a short sleeve tee and an ill-fitting pencil skirt. She could pick a long sleeve, not that it would make a difference. 

Besides, Ginoza’s coat was warm, heavy on Akane’s shoulders, and smelled like him. Another breeze blew by, though she hardly noticed as fingers mindlessly gripped the heavy coat around her. Her mind may have been screaming at just moments before this, but this feeling, this scent, this warmth was an instant high. When Akane looked at Ginoza, he was smiling at her. 

“What?” Akane’s voice hitched, her jaw clenched. “Do you want me to admit I’m cold?” She played annoyance well when no one else was around. The reality was, however, that Akane could never hold anything against the man. Ginoza could be the last man in the world, pushing every single one of her buttons, and she would still only be faking it if she got mad at him. On the other hand, if the roles were reversed, Akane was sure he would walk right out of her life. If he knew anything more than the curated persona she had been presenting him, he’d see Akane for the fraud she was. And imagine, what would happen if he knew what she knew? The thought of that terrified her more than anything. 

“I was just remembering something.” His smile widened, a little laugh escaping from the confines of his chest. “Remember when we finished Dad’s whiskey that other night?” 

Ginoza’s face was burning, but the cold air balanced it out. He could blame the red on winter instead of admitting how hard it was to relive dancing around in that rec-room. Akane insisted, tipsy, so close to his face, that everyone can dance. _That it was sooooooo fun._ He had tried to focus on timing his drinking so he wouldn’t be too inebriated to forget. _I thought when you got drunk, you were supposed to lose your inhibitions?_ Sure, but it was less an inhibition and more of a hard law of nature that the world never saw Ginoza dance. So, Akane insisted that Ginoza learned to moonwalk instead. _It’s not dancing, it’s just a really cool walk._ She did it so effortlessly, bringing her arms from her sides to the air, head swaying. It was an image burned into the front of his mind, a movie scene on repeat at night. 

“I thought you hated it when I brought that up.” Akane spent most of her time that night doing it over and over and over again, in the hopes that he could just copy her. Ginoza did his best which only meant he was dragging his feet.

“That’s because you’re a terrible teacher when you’re drunk.” Ginoza stood straight, folding his arms. “You could barely stop yourself from laughing.” He had seeb himself in the mirrors, so tall yet so awkward and gangly next to Akane. It must have been quite the sight, seeing her former superior fumbling with his feet that night. This moonwalking _was_ a dance, just not the flailing kind. It still required some modicum of physical grace, something that Ginoza was never blessed with. 

“Oh, please. You weren’t so bad!” 

She didn’t know it, but that was his favorite memory. Sometimes, Ginoza thought that he could die from the raw embarrassment he felt whenever it played in his mind. Though, if he was being completely transparent, there were times he still tried it, if not just to learn a new party trick. 

“You were pretty good. You don’t give yourself enough credit is all," she insisted now the same way she djd then. It was seeing her do it that made that night for the enforcer. When Akane showed him what all that French meant, the differences between _jetes_ and _sissones_ , her stunning form that she’d claim was actually fairly middling compared to professionals. _Basically, all I’m doing is trying to mimic a swan,_ she said, _mocking the bird in flight_. That night ended with them leaning on each other as she pulled up recordings of all those vintage ballets to show him. Ginoza could barely focus by then. All he could think of was the tantalizing feeling of her body, her warmth, stinging his skin. 

“If you say so,” Ginoza said softly. The light was back, gold specks in her eyes glittering as her lips curled upwards. He reveled in that gaze for a moment, allowing the tension in his shoulders, his face, his hands, and his feet to melt away. He turned away when he realized that he had to breathe. It occurred to him that the word _beautiful_ lingered on the tip of his tongue. He wasn’t ready to admit that quite yet. 

“Thanks, Nobu.” Akane spoke so sweetly, so intimately, it reminded Ginoza just how painful it was to admit to himself how good this all felt. She stared out into the distance. “You didn’t need to come out here, you know.” 

“Oh?” 

A strand of hair fell stray, interrupting her view. “I’m going to be okay, I just need some time.” 

“You’ll have to forgive me if I call bullshit on that, Akane.” He could have worded it better. There were other ways to express his concern. She closed her eyes, every bit of relief that had washed over her face melting away as he continued. “You’ve been showing up to work earlier these days and staying way past the end of your shifts. You’re _actually_ smoking these days. And earlier…”

“…I looked like I saw a ghost?” 

“That’s one way to put it.” She took a deep breath, her fists clenching. “Akane, you know you need to be taking care of yourself. You’ve been showing up drunk more often that I like, and anytime you do, you’re a mess. I don’t mind being here for you, but I don’t know what else I can do.” There was so much he wanted to do, plenty more he wanted to say, but it would overstep the narrow boundaries they’d drawn between them. “Have you been getting yourself checked out? Professionally?” 

“Yes, I have. And honestly, Nobuchika, I don’t appreciate you treating me like a child.” Ginoza gritted his teeth. “I’m doing my job, anyway. You can check my psycho-pass if you really want. I’m still clear.” 

“That’s not it.” 

“Except it is, isn’t it?” Tears pooled at the corners of her eyes. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the metal railing. _Why'd you have to ruin a good moment?_ “You’re just worried about if I can handle this job. You’re worried about me turning out like Kogami, or Masaoka. But I’m not _them_ , and I’d like for you to give me more credit than that.” There was a moment of silence. Neither had brought up those names in a long time. “And I’m already going to therapy, you know. I _have_ been seeing every single specialist I need. So, really, for you to ask if I’m getting help is insulting.” She was shaking, tears falling. “I don’t need you to tell me how to take care of myself, and I don’t need you to be questioning my sanity because you’re worried about my effectiveness at this job. That’s not what I need from you. Not now, not ever.” Ginoza stood straighter, cursing himself as he watched her. Her façade was cracked, revealing the flesh and blood beneath. He hadn’t been doing enough. “I just need you to listen to me. Just support me, please. I can’t…I can’t handle all this pressure anymore. I’m already losing my mind. I don’t need you to make me feel even worse by implying I don’t know what I’m doing.” 

“I’m sorry.” He wanted to take her hand in his, hold her close, but he just stood there. That only made her cry harder. 

“I’m not okay. Maybe I’ve never been okay. I always wondered if I’m even a person to anyone else because all I ever hear is about my stupid psycho-pass. Is that what you want to hear, Nobu? Did you know that even I can’t sleep at night because I’m reliving every horrible thing that I’ve been through every time I close my eyes?” She sank down to the ground, hugging her knees. “Everyone keeps hoping that I’ll be fine because this is going to affect my work. And I know that what we do is important, and I want so bad to do well, so I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. I thought if I just accept it, I’ll be fine, but that’s not how it works. All those awful things. I still see Yuki almost every day, and she’s dead and gone, but she’s still screaming for me to help her and I didn’t. I can’t. And if it’s not her, it’s Kagari. He’s just smiling, but it’s just not fair. He’s just gone, after everything he’s been through. And all because I told him to go, all because I was too busy focused on Kogami and Makashima.” 

He finally moved down to her level, wrapping her tightly in his arms. His heart was skipping beats as he tried to hold back his own tears. Her sobs reverberated through his very soul. 

“And Mr. Masaoka… your dad. If only I went after Makashima on my own like I was supposed to. Or maybe if I just let Kogami handle it. He would still be here. I keep thinking about how much better life would be if I just didn’t make so many mistakes, if I just did what I was supposed to. If I didn’t know all these terrible things. I’m so fucking stupid and young and naive, and I thought it meant something when my hue didn’t get clouded. I thought that meant that none of this would touch me. But it did, again, and again, and again. And every single day, I feel even worse. I feel like this empty fucking nothing is just waiting to swallow me whole.” She buried her face into his chest, hands clutching onto his shirt. “So yes, Nobu. I’m going to work more. I’m going to drink and smoke and do everything I can to feel something else. Because if I don’t… I’m scared I’ll lose it, lose everything. I’ll lose _you._ ” 

He waited, listened for more, told himself that he didn’t need to put her on any more pedestals. That was the problem here. While she wasn’t fragile, she wasn’t perfect. So many people went between the blind faith in her perfect scores to treating her like some damsel in distress. Worst of all, she was only ever really defined by her contribution to this society, to this job, when she offered so much more than that. She gave him bliss, reminded him that he was still a human being, insisted that he had value, still, beyond rank and circumstance. So if she just needed to keep crying, the least he could do was consider why. Especially when she was telling him. 

Minutes, maybe hours, passed. He remained in his position, holding her tightly on the ground. She could keep crying and he would still be there, but Akane wasn’t about to test that. “I’m sorry for yelling.” She hiccupped as she spoke, keeping her place in his arms. 

“You have nothing to apologize for. If anyone should be apologizing, it should be me.” Her shoulder stiffened. “So, I’m sorry, Akane. I really am. The last thing I want is for you to go through these things alone.” _The thought of that kills me. And the fact that you went through this alone for so long… that’s on me._ “None of that, not Yuki, not Kagri, not my dad, was your fault. You did what you could. You didn’t do anything wrong.” She pulled away, ready to protest, but he persisted. “I know it’s easier to blame yourself, but you can’t split yourself in every direction. There were so many other factors, other people, other things involved in all those outcomes.” He paused, brushing her hair with metal fingers. “You did what you could. But yes, you’re right. You’re only human. I’m sorry that I’ve made you feel less than that. I’m sorry I made you feel like that the only thing that mattered was how well you could do your job. You are so much more than that to me. So please, please just take me up on my offer. Lean on me. I know it’s hard for you. That’s why I’m here. I’m here, right here, and I’m never going anywhere.” 

There were days when Ginoza embodied that less-than human position in this world. Reminders of his life before were littered on all around him. Every sound, color, and feeling here were infinitely better than life before. Even with all that happened before they got here. All because of her. He wanted nothing more than to do the same for her. Therefore, he swore he’d always follow her lead. Maybe that made him even less of a man and he couldn’t care any less. 

So of course, when Akane Tsunemori, puffy-eyed and sniffling, pressed her lips on his, Ginoza’s first instinct was to lean into her. No questions asked. No hesitations. Their hearts and minds raced to explain this away, to find some reason to end this before it got any further but stopping wasn’t an option. This wasn’t just in their heads.

Maybe Akane was only doing this because she was grateful. She wasn’t really meaning to kiss him like this. Just a peck on the cheek. That was a narrative she could hold onto, even if she also knew that she was aiming for a place nowhere near the sides of his face. Akane certainly wasn’t planning on doing anymore either. Then she opened her mouth as her hands slid over his cheeks. The fact that they were on the clock made things even worse, but he tasted like sweet mint and clandestine release. All those days, all those nights where Akane ached over the idea that she’d been in love with this man, all crashing into this moment. 

For a moment, it crossed her mind that this could be yet another dream, another shadow slipping into the real world. Then his tongue ran across her bottom lip as his hands steadied her by the waist. She dreamed of kissing him before, yet that didn’t make up for the fact that Akane was actually feeling every bit of this sweet moment. Every hypothetical of them crashing into each other, every imagined meeting in the safety of her mind, paled in comparison to the tenderness of his lips. Her heart hammered against her chest, her mind reeled behind reminders that _she was still at work_ , and all Akane wanted was for Ginoza to know just how long she’d felt like this, wanted to memorize the shape of his mouth on hers, _wanted him_.

The cold felt so much more excruciating when he pulled away. 

“What are we doing?”

 _It’s not really that wrong… as long as you don’t say anything._ “I… I’m sorry.” 

Their mercurial highs were brought crashing down by realization that this, all of this, was a grievous sin within this world, their covenant with the law, and their friendship. That’s all they were, right? Just friends, a latent criminal and an inspector who saw ghosts. But Akane’s hands didn’t move from his face, and Ginoza’s grip around her waist never loosened. They could only stare at each other, hoping that they were too far up for anyone else to see how much more they wanted. He didn’t really mean it when he asked what they were doing. And she didn’t really mean it when she apologized. Their faces were still so close, their lips still parted. This was probably wrong. They should probably put a hard stop on this. They searched for answers in the air between them, reached out into the confines of their spinning consciousness to find the right words to say.

But the next kiss happened by instinct. He pushed farther this time around, and she was the one obliging him. Questions raced in their minds. The only answers that existed lay in the swelling effervescence between them. They were going to keep crossing those lines. They were willing to touch down on the point of no return and never look back. Akane’s hand tangled itself in Ginoza’s hair, though she never needed to hold him down. He would have kept going regardless. 

She only pulled away to ask him what they needed to do next. He was the wrong person to ask, and his mind had long since left the room. All he could do was pull her back in. Yes, there was a point that they would have to come back down to Earth. They’d need to go back to their desks, talk to others and pretend like nothing happened. And after that? 

“We should talk about this.” Ginoza’s breathy response was met with another kiss, far softer than the last. 

“Okay.” Later, they agreed, they’d talk about this. He pulled her in one more time. Returning his coat almost felt like cutting off a limb.

Akane was second to the office, stopping by the bathroom as an excuse not to come back at the same time as Ginoza. She almost hesitated before sitting back down at her desk, remembering for a split second what she’d seen earlier. That terror was immediately chased away by soft green eyes, reminding the inspector that there were no ghosts here. Every stolen glance that followed pulled her away from every little bit of anxiety that lingered.

“Inspector Tsunemori, I’ll be heading out now.” Shimotsuki was last, as anyone would have expected. Once the doors closed behind her, Ginoza cleared his throat. 

“Dinner?” 

Akane bit her lip. “Yes.” 

“I’ll be downstairs when you’re ready.” 

Akane couldn’t be bothered to keep up with the charade anymore and walked out right beside him. 

Lovers were supposed to be matched by Sybil. They only married once they had permission by the system’s bureaucratic front, and they were only ever allowed two children. Love eventually came into the equation. Some scientists actually made the claim that these arrangements were far stronger than the those in which choice was involved. These were practical partnerships. They weren’t built on romanticized fancies. 

What started on that balcony was a far cry from those perfected couplings. Akane was reckless, headstrong, and belief drove every single one of her actions. Ginoza was far more tactful, if not overly cautious, but just as strong-willed, evident in the way he kissed her, hard, the moment they stepped into his home. Behind the closed door of the corner basement suite, held safe within concrete walls, were shifts in the very fabric of space sealed with hushed sighs. Now that they were here, there was no way they could just go about with their old ways. So, how would they go about with this? What would happen if people found out? Akane shrugged away their reservations and reassured him with half-hooded eyes. They’d figure it out. Right now, right here, they didn’t need to worry about anything else. And wasn’t that enough for right now?

He responded in sharp breaths when her fingers dug into his skin. Akane was hell-bent on exploring every bit of this reality. She was nothing if not impossibly persistent. Ginoza accepted this minor defeat, countering with a roll of his tongue on hers as her hands traced the outline of his arms. Was this too much for one day? Maybe. Then again, he’d be lying if he didn’t admit that he wanted to know what the rest of her tasted like. 

His long lashes fluttered against her cheeks, followed by his lips. His heart was pounding again. Ginoza wasn’t sure what he was doing. The man had only ever touched himself before now. The kiss on the balcony had been his first. Even in his most intimate dreams, the closest he’d get to touching Akane was just holding her hand. It crossed his mind that he could stop at any moment, maybe ask her what to do. By the way she sighed Nobuchika when he kissed her neck, he could only assume he was on the right track. He bit at the corner of where her jawline and her earlobe connected, ran his tongue on her skin in circles. The thought that he could get more of this, more of her, drove the hound wild. 

Akane was ahead of him. She wanted Ginoza to go further, rip off her clothes, show her just how badly he always wanted her. He could throw her up against the walls of this place for all she cared. They could build a whole religion from all this pent-up passion. But he was moving too slowly, his hand hesitating at the hemline of her mussed shirt. It occurred to her that maybe he’d never done this before. Akane had never been with anyone else before this, either. She took Ginoza’s hand, holding onto it tightly as their lips met once more. Inexperience was an old friend, _one that would never get in her way_. Her hands made quick work of his shirt, pushed him down onto the stiff cushions of his couch. He grunted as she propped herself up on him, black tight thighs on either side of his waist. Her skirt had been hiked up far past what was proper for their office, and she urged his hands to push it up higher. He obliged her, green eyes trained on hers, making sure that this, all of this, was what she wanted. She could feel him growing hotter beneath her. Without a hitch, she pulled her shirt over her head, throwing it on the ground beside them. That was more than enough to make him squirm, fingers digging into her hips. 

“...is this okay?” Akane’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I want more, but it’s alright if you don’t.” An odd choice of words. Despite having seen each other practically every day for over two years straight, she never failed to surprise him. He’d never thought he’d hear her voice so hushed like that. Even though she was on top of him, she was just as vulnerable here as he was. All these years, he’d put her on a pedestal for her brilliant mind, her clarity, her conscience, and inspiring purity. She was supposed to be untouchable. Yet here she was, seeking him out, telling him she wanted more from _him_. Two and half years ago, he couldn’t stand the sight of her. Now, all she was all he wanted to see. And he could overthink this all he wanted later, because he wanted to answer her with the same earnest honesty she always gave him. 

Nobuchika sat up, pressing his lips against hers once more. He steadied her with one arm, metal cold against her skin, as he pushed her skirt further up with his other hand, pulling her black tights down. The holiest of promises was the one being made at this junction, an oath that didn’t need any fancy articulation. She admitted that she loved him with her sighs as he bit on her porcelain neck. He’d been the same, maybe for longer, and he made that clear when he pushed the straps of her bra off her shoulders. He was kissing her harder and she was relishing in these wordless professions of faith. 

This kind of thing may have happened often between enforcer and inspector, but nothing was typical about the way he picked her up, the way she wrapped her legs around his waist. If she moaned his name, it was a prayer thanking the world for her humanity, for the shivers he sent up her spine as fingers traced the outline of her panties. When he threw her down on his bed, it was an indication that he was accepting the parts of himself that he’d long held at arm’s length. The last of their vestments were ceremoniously removed, their final reservations offered up in exchange for their overdue redemption. Nothing scared him anymore, and nothing was pulling her away. Some called this a dance; they would say that this was far more sacred. He was a marvelous sight for her, his face flushing as his eyes fluttered as she worshipped his most private parts. She was every bit as stunning she always was, though nude, perfectly mussed beneath his touch, legs parted, eyes pleading for him not to stop. 

Instincts served as their guide. With her desperate pleas, he pushed into her, feeling like he could implode at any moment but determined to bring her the same pleasure. Her nails dug into his skin. He pressed in, deeper, every bit intimidated and ecstatic as humanly possible, his ability to think melting away with every steady thrust. There wasn’t any pain for her, no amount of discomfort. All that existed was the relief that she could express these beautiful, damned truths with him. A private heaven made from all the broken pieces they were putting back together. She wanted to scream, to cry, to feel every bit of him that she could and everything after that. He moved, met her halfway, willing and able to worship every part of her. She rolled her hips and he was pushing, pulling, clinging onto the sacred ground of her body. 

This wasn’t just sex, not fucking, more sacred than making love, more intimate than any other kind of closeness they knew of. She was saying his name over and over, _Nobu, Nobuchika_ , releasing sultry moans that made the world spin. He was burning on top of her, kissing lines across her throat as he moved inside her. Her right hand was locked behind his head, fingers laced through his hair. Her left was sliding down his spine, scratching praises on his skin. Her synapses were shutting down, her chest heaving. Their hands found each other again right as she arched her back, crying out his name as she throbbed around him. _Oh fuck_ , his temperature rose as his movements quickened, harder, harsher, more animal than man. She was still whispering his name, pitches varying, feeling highs and lows that she’d never want to feel with anyone else. He was going to combust, and _god—it was all he could think of_ , his grip on her hands tightening. 

He kissed her as he felt himself drowning, biting her lip and tasting her moans as she came once more. She pulsed around him, coaxing him to his end, and she swore she had never heard a more magnificent sound than the way he moaned her name. 

They came to their senses in the afterglow. By then, they realized that they had walked each other through every hell so far. What was the point of giving up? She traced figure eights on the sweat of chest, breathing in the sweet smell of his body with a smile. The talk they intended to have didn’t happen that night. Instead, they shared this sanctuary with each other, using words only to describe exactly what they wanted in the moment. 

When shadows pinned her down, he was there, reminding her that she could breathe, his hand in hers. 

**Author's Note:**

> So, something that really bugged me about the show was just how Akane was only ever referred to by her ability to maintain a low psycho-pass. It's like they just created this world, created that concept as a potential plot point and challenge, and then built her around it. She was just a walking, talking set of ideals, and I wanted to explore how she really did deal with her traumas. I doubt she went from plucky, innocent rookie to hardened but calm and cool expert detective in two years without having really processed her traumas properly, and we're never shown that.  
> On top of that, while I do like Ginoza's character in S2, we don't get anymore explorations of how he got there. We just kinda get a heel-face-turn and that's it. It's not a bad thing, and I get that the point of the show was to talk about society, technology, crime & punishment, and (to a lesser degree) psychology. But I really honestly think that the way he was handled and also given such a backseat was incredibly jarring and kind of wrong considering how much they built him up in S1. 
> 
> Anyway, any input is welcome and actually extremely desired, so please give me ALL The feedback :)


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